Musicality
by fc2001
Summary: Neela's obsession surfaces. RayNeela.


**Disclaimer: **Without Prejudice. I own nothing and no one connected to ER, and the character of Neela is used here without permission. Don't sue, I own nothing worth having.

**Author's Notes: **Hmm. Don't know what to say. It's random. Hope you enjoy.

**Musicality**

The TV is burbling as I enter the apartment – random game show nonsense – but he isn't watching it. I look up to confirm this assumption. Yep, right again. He never is. It's just background noise, I guess. I decide not to acknowledge his presence as he hasn't yet looked up and acknowledged mine. Petty though I know that decision is, I have had a bad day.

I need to go to my room and unwind, forget work, forget life, forget him. Unfortunately, life is as usual conspiring against me. My eyes catch on him as I pass by. More specifically, they catch on a hand, held mid-air, fingers curled and moving over invisible strings. It is utterly mesmerising – for the briefest moment I am actually captivated and my knees wobble.

I sink onto my bed, drop my head into my hands. I wish I could pretend to myself that it was the first time I've ever noticed. But it isn't. I'm fascinated with every inch of him, more than I'd care to admit sometimes, but I have a particular interest in his hands.

How they would look, contrasting against my dark skin, how they would feel…

I closed my eyes; saw again the way his fingers moved. I've watched him actually play – there's an absolute surety and raw power, passion that dances from his fingertips to make music. It's the same poetry when he's working – strong, sure movements – and it's so utterly distracting. I have caught myself on several occasions for staring when I should be working. I'm sure he must have noticed by now. He'd have to be pretty unperceptive not to.

Dammit. I'm obsessed.

"Damn you, Ray Barnett,"

I mutter viciously, unable to control the images that wash over me.

I imagine him playing my body with the same confidence, the same power and passion, fire at his fingertips, burning me up under his touch.

How would those hands feel against my skin? Is the skin there rough or smooth? Would it graze my softer skin or slide against it? Just how sure and confident would he be then?

"Hey, you called?"

I look up sharply, to the mysteriously open doorway, noting his expression – lying midway between mischievous and amused. My lips form a smile of their own accord.

"Something I can help you with?"

He slides inside the room, closing the door softly behind him. I don't know why I'm not shocked by this boldness. Ordinarily, I'd chase him out. But given my recent train of thought…maybe it's time to have a little fun.

"That depends - "

I rise from the bed, my eyes coyly aside, and wander to the window. I can feel him tracking me, intense green eyes locked on my every move. Hell, that's the aim.

"On?"

My body stiffens involuntarily, sensing the heat of another inside my comfort zone. I don't turn around, savouring the moment, the anticipation that's swirling in my stomach.

"Whether you're any good with your - "

There is the briefest of brushes on my upper arm – my words trail off momentarily – my thought processes derailed, my insides quivering with anticipation. My skin tingles. I can't help myself.

"Hands,"

I finish at a whisper. His hands slide all the way down my bare arms, more firmly this time.

"I've never had any complaints,"

My heart is making a bid for freedom, and if he wasn't standing right behind me, I'm fairly sure I would actually be on the floor right now. Blood is rushing through my body at a hitherto unknown rate, my pulse rising.

Words are lost to me. There is nothing but his hands, and nothing I can do but give myself up to the symphony of caresses. From the initial ghostly touch on my arm, to the bruising, demanding pressure on my breasts and the full, insistent heat pressing down on my belly, driving ever downwards, towards the crescendo.

There is a rhythm, but no music. My body is the instrument and I am loving every second of it.

"Neela? You need something?"

I bite down hard on my lip at the sound of his voice, crashing inelegantly back into reality. I blink rapidly, yank my hand back from its resting place over my stomach, and attempt to play down my furiously flushed skin.

His tone is between concerned and curious, his expression just a shade off puzzled. He frowns at me.

"Something I can do for you?"


End file.
